


Gratitude

by meaninglessblah



Series: The Janus Diaries [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blow Jobs, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Cages, Cock Piercing, Cock Rings, Collars, Crying, Dacryphilia, Explicit Sexual Content, Gags, Glove Kink, Knifeplay, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Torture, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Piercings, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Sounding, Tongue Piercings, Torture, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Wound Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29604909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Ra's contracts Roman to teach his new pet just how well he has it in Ra's' care.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Ra's al Ghul, Tim Drake/Ra's al Ghul/Roman Sionis, Tim Drake/Roman Sionis
Series: The Janus Diaries [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175030
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30
Collections: Romin Week 2021





	Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghoulaug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulaug/gifts).



> For [Roman/Robin Week 2021](https://romanrobinweek.tumblr.com/) Day 3: ~~Earth 3 | Sex Worker AU~~ | Collars 
> 
> Thank you for sharing your gorgeous art! Hope you enjoy a little bit of Tim suffering ❤

The call connects, the fizzle of static giving way to blurred pixels and then to a room that sharpens on Ra’s’ screen. It’s centred on a desk, the mahogany sprawled out beneath Roman Sionis’ keen gaze. 

He hadn’t been Ra’s’ first choice. But he had been the most convenient, and the most effective. 

It had involved parting with a few million dollars, but Ra’s was prepared to sacrifice any riches to have his most priceless possession cared to. The contract had stipulated the fee, and the conditions, amongst other things. Roman had taken it up gladly. 

And now, spread out across that desk, pale and shivering in his naked glory, is Ra’s’ Detective. 

Timothy is a sight to behold. From Ra’s’ viewpoint, he is inverted, head tipped towards the distant Demon’s Head, bright blue eyes shimmering beneath his caged mouth. 

A bit, segmented through Tim’s tongue, the crossbar pierced through the centre of the muscle. Ra’s can still see the drip of blood from Roman’s recent application of the gag, see the way Tim winces every time his tongue withdraws and the bit catches on the corners of his mouth. Enjoys watching the drool gather at the edges of his lips where they’re unable to close completely, smearing over the heavy golden baubles attached to either end of the bit’s bar. Simplistic in its design, but there will be time for decorations later. 

In the end, Tim lets his tongue - and the heavy gag pierced through it - loll out. 

Ra’s lets his gaze drift, up over the delicate collarbones to the teenager’s chest, and the firm rolls of muscle that heave with every tremulous breath. His arms are splayed, restrained to either side to prevent any unnecessary movement; to present him for Ra’s’ judgement. 

Every inhalation rolls through his stomach, the gold of his navel piercing glinting beneath the desk lamp as Roman idles between his hinged thighs, plucking at the taunt rope with a gloved finger to enjoy how Tim jolts. 

He’s perfectly restrained, roped harnesses caging his legs in half, spreading his thighs to expose that most private area. Were it under any other circumstances than his own instruction, Ra’s would consider it a slight. Timothy is for his viewing only, his faculties for Ra’s’ use alone. 

But in the prevailing months, his Detective had demonstrated a virulent refusal to accept his newfound place at Ra’s’ side. Had scorned every gift Ra’s had presented him with, both voluntary and not. 

Until his attitude had plucked at Ra’s’ last nerve. And now the crime lord was involved. 

It was a calculated move, on Ra’s’ part. Timothy required a demonstration, a show of force. And for all Ra’s’ years of experience, he couldn’t bring himself to deliver the necessary blow to break his beloved’s will. Couldn’t bring himself to mar that perfect skin, to shatter that impeccable will. To teach his Detective the truth of his situation. 

That Ra’s was, as always, his benevolent lover. 

And that fate had many more darker, malevolent choices awaiting him, should he continue to scorn Ra’s’ heartfelt affections. 

Such as the man who now leered between Tim’s thighs, bright teeth glinting from the void of his blackened skull. A malevolent, monstrous man, who would demonstrate to Timothy just how much worse his options could truly be. 

Roman was a crude, blunt tool. But an effective one, under the circumstances. 

So long as he is controlled, is fettered with conditions and showered with compensation. Ra’s is no stranger to contracts; he will ensure Roman is kept to his. 

Ra’s reclines back in his cushions, selecting a fig from the bowl at his wrist as he adjusts his screen. Luxuriates into the satin pillows beneath him as his Detective pants, tongue fretting about his mouth like a shy mare. Awaiting with forceful trepidation whatever blow Roman will deliver first. 

But he was given instructions, and the reminder makes Ra’s smile. 

Tim squirms when Roman’s hand falls to his cock, pumping it roughly as the Detective bares teeth. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a glib word, it seems. Unwilling to show the slightest crack in his armour. 

Not to worry; Ra’s has time in spades. He will watch Tim break, from the comfort of his bed, while his Detective swears and sweats on a desk far away. 

Beyond Ra’s’ kind hand. In the grips of a madman. 

He will learn to appreciate the care with which Ra’s holds him, one way or another. Sooner, rather than later. 

“Your Daddy got you something special,” Roman sneers, massaging a thumb into the base of Tim’s cockhead until he’s tugging on the ropes and wincing at the overstimulation. Ra’s watches Roman’s other hand fall to the carved wooden box to one side, flipping open the lid with a deft movement. “Custom made.” 

His heart skips a little at the sight of it, the reminder of the package he had delivered to Roman with the contract. A gift, from Ra’s to his beloved Detective, to ensure he wouldn’t come to any unnecessary harm in the course of their arrangement. 

Roman had laughed at him, in that husky, grating guffaw of his. Ra’s had reminded him, crisply, that his leniency was only boundless because of Ra’s’ competence. 

Ra’s sees when Timothy lays eyes on the device, because all of him goes taut, straining against the timber as a heavy breath escapes him. His knees twitch, thighs trying to close on his own manhood, as if he could deny Ra’s the view of it trembling in Roman’s fist. 

It makes anticipation curl in Ra’s’ gut, stoking the warmth spreading slowly through his veins as Roman finally releases him to slide lube-slicked fingers up the rod. 

It’s a masterpiece of his own engineering. The sound is tempered gold, forged by his own smiths, under his own attentive direction. Capped with a hollow effigy in the likeness of Ra’s’ namesake. Hollow, but not empty. 

It glints wickedly when Roman lifts it up for Ra’s’ inspection, and the blazing look of desperation in his Detective’s gaze makes Ra’s’ heart lurch with excitement. Unexpectedly, he longs to have his fingers in the teen’s hair, feel the minute shivers travelling down his neck as he swallows and shifts. 

He’ll have time later. For now, Ra’s must exercise restraint, for his Detective’s benefit. Sate himself with the sight of another man’s hands on his prize, grip calloused and rough where Ra’s would be gentle. Timothy will learn to appreciate the difference, he’s sure. 

The bit clicks against Timothy’s teeth when Roman reclaims his grip on his cock, some cumbersome word stifled by muscle and metal in the teen’s mouth. All that remains is a thin protest, hopeless and ineffectual in its resignation. 

“Look at that,” Roman says appreciatively, turning the device to and fro under the artificial lights. On the table, Tim’s chest heaves as he steels himself. “Now that’s a work of art.” 

The praise is unwarranted, serving only to humiliate the teen bound to the desk before them. Ra’s’ attention remains on his Detective’s carefully composed features when Roman secures his grip and aligns the sound with Tim’s cock. 

He twitches violently at the first press of metal into his urethra, head tossing back as he vents the pain he must be experiencing. His throat is prominent against the collar resting there, his swallow thick and forced. It’s a delectable feast for his spectator, all of that emotion laid bare, uncaged, for Ra’s’ consumption. 

The rod sinks slowly past the head of Tim’s cock, disappearing with the aid of Roman’s careful, if impatient, hand until the pendant sits snug against the teen’s slit. It’s top-heavy, weighing the teen’s stuffed length when Roman releases it to lay across his stomach. The crime lord secures it in place, locking the golden band around the shaft as Tim whines regretfully. 

Ra’s leans closer to his screen, searching for the moment Tim - his intelligent, deductive Detective - recognises the artistry of his device. 

It takes a minute or so, as Roman cleans his gloved hands with a rag. Tim’s shoulders rise and fall in metered, halting breaths that begin to level, and then still entirely. The questioning whine that rises from his throat next has all of Ra’s’ nerves fluttering, his eyes fixed on the teen’s expression as it graduates from confused to dumbstruck to horrified. 

Ra’s knows exactly what he’s feeling. The slow, unnaturally tepid seep of liquid into Tim’s bladder. The gradual spread of cold through the core of him, nipping at the ends of his nerves despite the warmth of the water sitting heavy inside him. The conflicting sensations as the Lazarus Pit drips slowly into his Detective, seeping into every artery and pore. 

A grunt breaks free from Tim’s lips, a shout of denial following swiftly. 

Roman ignores him, motions swift and methodical as he secures the accompanying set of rings around Tim’s cock, feeding his balls through the base as the teen writhes. The ropes around his wrists and lashing his calves to his thighs don’t waver, holding him placid and open to Roman’s touch. 

He settles after a few fruitless moments, breathing hard through his nose, chest rising in stymied agitation. It’s almost endearing, the helpless frustration that graces his Detective’s features, pulling those dark brows together into a scowl. 

“From what I hear, al Ghul’s been spoiling you rotten,” Roman murmurs, pursuant to nothing, and draws a gloved fingertip up the underside of Timothy’s cock. He grunts a low protest, his member bobbing against his stomach when Roman releases him. Flushed and aching for a gentle touch. 

Unfortunate, then, that Ra’s is not there to give it to him. Unfortunate, still, that his only source of relief will come at the hands of a sadist. 

Roman leers, teeth glinting in the warm light as he lifts a digit to flick at Tim’s chest, coax the pierced buds there to a gradual hardness. They flush, the colour delightful against Tim’s pallor, rising to stiff buds beneath Roman’s unrelenting pinches. 

His Detective weathers it with a grimace and a piecemeal resignation, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Perhaps utilising one of those techniques his mentor enjoys so dearly; the very same that Ra’s had taught him, and sees now. 

It won’t spare him from what’s to come. Of that Ra’s is certain. 

The metal bars glint wickedly against the dark leather of Roman's gloves, a bright gold contrast that Ra’s can’t help but admire. His Detective deserves the finest of ornaments with which to be adorned, even if he cannot see his beauty himself. 

Ra’s will ensure he earns the privilege. Ensure he pays with gratitude before he’s gifted gold. 

Roman seems to be enjoying the jewelry too, flicking the barbells with thin amusement to enjoy the way Tim flinches with each touch. “Look at all these gifts. Only the finest for such a pretty young thing.” 

Tim’s glare is flat and scorching, his tongue agitated when it shifts in his mouth. The gag butts up against the corners of his lips, smearing drool as he weathers the taunting in silence. 

“I’ll bet you haven’t even taken the time to thank your owner for them,” Roman deduces, his confirmation earned in the curl of Tim’s lips. The crime lord chuckles darkly, sliding two fingers beneath the left bar, between metal and skin as Tim frowns. “If you were mine, I’d make sure you appreciated every scrap given to you.” 

Those brows pinch, Roman's teeth glint, and then he twists and wrenches the metal free. 

Ra’s has the immense pleasure of watching the agony roll over his Detective’s features, like a storm brewing on the sea. There’s a suspended moment of clarity, as Tim’s eyes widen and his features slacken with shock. Then he’s screaming through the bit, spine arcing off the table as he throws his head back. 

“Delightful,” he breathes. 

He had had Timothy decorated in the early days of his deliverance, beginning with ears and tongue - the latter of which Roman has had no qualms leveraging to Timothy’s detriment. Ra’s had been entranced by the teen’s beauty, intent on decorating every inch of unblemished skin he could get his hands on. Heavy gold on porcelain skin. 

But his adoration was eclipsed before long, and Ra’s had graduated to include the beading buds of Timothy’s dark nipples, the flushed head of his bobbing cock, the smooth skin of his perineum. He enjoys the flush that lights his Detective’s cheeks when Roman’s fingertips dip to trace up the row of studs behind his balls, obscured from Ra’s’ gaze but not his mind’s eye. 

He knows how brightly they glint, slicked with his precum when Ra’s takes the teen as his own. Knows how Timothy writhes with pleasure when he tugs on the bead and rod pierced beneath the crown of his cock, rattling with the force of his orgasm, tears spilling beautifully over those cheeks. 

It will be a shame to see his Detective without the jewellery, without the mark of Ra’s’ adoration. But it will be short-lived; and Ra’s will have the pleasure of installing them again, the joy of Timothy clinging tight to his shoulder blades when Ra’s steadies the needle against his sensitive skin. 

Roman must tug on one of Tim’s lorum piercings, because the teen grunts and shifts on the desktop, thighs trembling. Ra’s can see the man’s gloved finger teasing the small golden ball, steadily massaging the rod beneath the thin flesh as Tim breathes raggedly and tries to steal himself for the inevitable. 

Ra’s doesn’t miss the hitch in his breathing when Roman secures one end, grip tight and unrelenting as Tim braces. He finds himself leaning forward in his seat, drawing closer to his Detective as Roman gives him a cruel smirk. 

But oh, how his Detective shrieks when Roman rips the jewellery free. A thin spray of blood follows, but Ra’s’ attention is on the way Tim screams at the loss, the sound unhindered when it tears up through his throat. The tears come quickly, gushing from those wide blues as Ra’s watches with rapture. 

His elbows knock the desk loudly when he twitches, and Ra’s’ attention is drawn down to where Roman’s fingers are nudging at the next stud, nestled behind his balls, through the delicate skin of his taint. 

Tim’s head is twisting, a denial in every sob as he holds Roman’s gaze and pleads with every muscle in his body. It makes Ra’s laugh with all the more delight when Roman ruthlessly divests him of that gift too. 

He removes the two other studs in much the same fashion, and now Ra’s can begin to see the slow spill of blood on the desktop, between his Detective’s thighs. His screams are hoarse now, sharp little wails caught amongst sharp little breaths. He wouldn’t be surprised if Tim’s hyperventilating; the pain must be excruciating, the damage inflicting incomprehensible agony on such sensitive areas. 

Ra’s is unperturbed. The steady drip of the Lazarus waters will see off any truly detrimental scarring, allowing Roman free reign to visit as many afflictions upon Ra’s’ Detective as he sees fit. 

The metal chimes quietly when Roman drops it onto the desktop at Tim’s hip, letting the slick studs roll away without a care. His attention is far too focused on the twitch and jump of Tim’s thighs, the way the muscle shudders when Roman lays his palms over the pale flesh. 

Tim’s head hits the desk with a soft _thunk_ , eyes squeezing shut as he draws in a deep lungful. Trying to regain his composure, Ra’s suspects. He’ll need it for what comes next. 

“Nice and wet down here,” Roman comments, rocking one blood-slicked finger into the teen. Tim whines at the pain, squirming uncomfortably before Roman adds another. “Nearly ready for me.” 

Those thin whines devolve into full-chested pants by the time Roman is three fingers deep and teasing a fourth. Tim is squirming against his bonds, flinching with every jab of those digits against his prostate. His cock strains against its cage, pinned firmly as Roman continues his cruel assault. 

Ra’s settled in to watch the show, gaze lingering on the flex of Tim’s throat when he swallows, the gleam of the metal collar against the dark wood, the way the gag glints in the light. He really does look absolutely gorgeous in gold. Ra’s is looking forward to adorning him again when he has his Detective back in his arms. 

Roman shifts, drawing his attention as he withdraws those fingers. They’re still stained red when he wraps them around his cock to guide the member between Tim’s thighs. Buries himself deep in a way that shoves a groan from Tim’s chest. 

The teen lists against the desk, limbs limp and trembling in their rope bonds as Roman wraps his palms over Tim’s narrow hips and begins to rut. 

There’s an animalistic fervour to it, a greed to the way Roman takes his Detective’s body. It makes Ra’s’ gut clench with something akin to rage, akin to jealousy. Possessiveness, perhaps, if he cared to think past the fog of disapproval. 

But he had promised Roman free reign. And the man has performed admirably up until now; it would be improper to deny him this release when he’s complied with every other condition Ra’s has laid upon him thus far. 

He’ll just have to ensure Timothy is _thoroughly_ cleaned before Ra’s can take him in his own bed again. 

The thought soothes him somewhat, the image of his Detective laid out against his sheets. Dark hair feathered in a crown on the dark green sheets, gold glinting beneath the pluck of Ra’s’ careful fingers. Glinting in tandem with the rings on the Demon’s Head’s own digits. 

How beautiful Tim will look when Ra’s leans over him, cradles him close, kisses him dearly. How Timothy will moan for him, beg for more, ankles clinging to Ra’s, lips ravenous. Every pour pleading for more contact as Ra’s gives him all he has to spare. 

Ra’s is drawn from his reverie by Roman’s crude tongue, stopped for too long by the groans in his own throat. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” Roman’s sneering. Fingers rising to pinch the still-torn flesh of Tim’s nipples, and Ra’s’ heart flutters at the scream that produces. “Hard to believe they could all forget about you.” 

Tim moans, low and dissenting. But even Ra’s can tell it’s weak, can tell his Detective is growing fatigued as Roman rocks him over the desk, palms fused to Tim’s hips. 

“Everyone’s too busy scrambling to comfort Red,” Roman scoffs, thrusting deep. Tim groans deep around the intrusion, hands fisting at the end of their ropes. “No time to notice when little Timmy dropped off the radar. Did you even tell them the specifics of the undercover mission? Or was the radio silence was your idea?” 

There’s no opportunity to reply, with the gag still pierced through Tim’s tongue. Not that Roman seems to be looking for a response, with the way he takes to using the teen’s thin frame, jerking him down on his cock with every flex of his hips. His Detective is positively straining against the cage now, pleasure denied even in the midst of all this pain. 

It startles Ra’s, then, when Roman pulls out suddenly, cock streaked with what little blood remains, to strut around to the head of the desk. His eyes are bright, feverish in the height of the moment, cock straining for release even as Roman reaches into his pocket to retrieve a switchblade. 

Ra’s leans forward curiously, watching Tim’s fight return, his vocal protests rising to sharp pleas as he begins to thrash. Roman’s tongue dances over the front of his lipless mouth, but his hand is steady when he lowers it to Tim’s splayed mouth. 

His other fists into his Detective’s hair, holding him still as he hooks the blade into the corner of Tim’s begging lips. The sounds the teen is making are guttural and desperate, the same truncated syllable spilling from his tongue over and over again. Though almost incoherently garbled, Ra’s almost believes it’s his own name. 

“Don’t fret, little Robin,” Roman murmurs with poorly constrained glee, sighing fondly as he jerks Tim’s head aside. Turns the bare, unmarked expanse of his cheek into the light so he can survey his canvas. “Just need to make some minor adjustments for your owner.” 

Tim’s sobs are low and strained, spilling into each other as Roman begins carving into the corner of his mouth. Blood blooms, trickle down the teen’s jaw and past his lips. A glorious tribute to Timothy’s own colours. Ra’s make a personal note to explore the contrast again. 

Tim chokes at the first taste of blood, thrashing bodily the further Roman goes. 

The crime lord’s pace is slow and patient, his gaze burning with eagerness. “A facelift, I think. Make sure you greet him with a smile when you see him again.” 

Tim grunts and bucks, head tossing out of Roman’s grip in a last hurrah. The knife jumps, the blade jumping for the hollow beneath his cheekbone and gouging deep as a scream curls up out of Tim’s open mouth. 

Roman doesn’t stop, a glower darkening his features as he shoves deep, tearing the skin until the newly crafted hole is a few inches wide and Tim is trembling in his bonds. 

It’s only then that Roman withdraws to survey his work, and Ra’s becomes aware that he’s hanging off the man’s every movement, thrilled to see what he’ll accomplish next. Tim has stilled, but for the broken heave of his chest and the quiet wail that won’t leave his throat. Tears cleave apart his cheeks, salt caressing the newly cut hole as he swallows hard, tongue visible through the puncture. 

Roman’s fingers discard the knife after a quiet, reverent moment, in favour of tracing the pucker of the wound. Pinning Tim down when he tries to flinch away from that gloved touch. 

They delve deep after a moment of exploration, drawing another yell from Tim. Roman withdraws just as quickly, slicking his cock hastily with the rust before he pulls Tim’s head back by the grip on his fringe to nudge the crown to the pucker. 

Whatever protests his Detective tries to vocalise, they’re discarded, muffled as Roman feeds himself through the hole, groaning into the slick heat beyond. Ra’s can see the progress of his cock through Tim’s open mouth, see how it scrapes over his molars and the roof of his mouth. The way Tim’s tongue thrashes around, trying to dislodge the intrusion. 

The arousal is blinding, and Ra’s finds his hand drifting downwards, if only in consolation. Seeking relief from the sight before his doting eyes. 

It’s no time at all before Roman begins to move, cock sliding obscenely against that trapped tongue, drool sliding from Tim’s still-gagged lips. 

Timothy gargles uselessly, tongue straining against the obtrusion every time Roman thrusts through the wound. It draws a groan from the crime lord’s chest, one that has every nerve in Ra’s’ body straining with jealousy. He calms himself with the sharp blue of his Detective’s eyes, losing himself in their wavering spill as they overflow. 

“This feels pretty good, al Ghul,” Roman grunts, grinding his tongue along the slack ridge of his Detective’s tongue. 

The sound of his cock penetrating Tim’s cheek is obscene, slick and wet with every pointed jab. It draws heat through Ra’s, eyes fixed to the wince of his Detective as he bears the rough treatment with a slack jaw and ceaseless tears. 

Roman keeps it neat and directed, one hand fisted in his Detective’s locks as he drags him down on every thrust. Like Tim is no more than a wet hole to use for his pleasure. It stokes simultaneous jealousy and arousal in the Demon’s Head, the emotions heady. 

“I think you should keep him like this,” Roman bites between gritted teeth, aiming for Tim’s throat with every flex of his hips. His cock hits the back of Tim’s throat with every other attempt, prompting thick sounds of spit-stained pain that bring more tears to his fluttering eyes. “He makes for a great gloryhole.” 

For the most part, Timothy is docile, and that warms Ra’s more than he dares to admit. The placidity of his Detective, laid out before him, another man’s cock fucking into his face as he lays bare and takes it without complaint. Without challenge or dissent. Resigned to the torment of a cruel man’s fantasy, reduced to nothing more than a vessel for his carnal pleasure. 

Oh, how Ra’s dreams of rebuilding him. Of drawing Timothy close into his embrace with soft words and softer touches. The way he’ll cling to Ra’s’ comfort like a parched man in the desert, lips wet with the promise of reprieve. Every fibre clinging to the gratitude of Ra’s’ mercy. 

It almost makes the sight enjoyable, knowing how much farther Tim falls with every thrust, the rhythm increasing in its erraticism until Tim’s all but choking around the excess of precum and saliva, the slick drooling past his fettered lips and down his chin, squelching past Roman’s hard cock with each slide. 

He looks desperate, looks depraved; degraded in every way that excites Ra’s. His Detective, brought undone for his viewing pleasure. Soon to return to the safe haven of his arms. 

“Timothy,” he calls, and then again until the teen’s wavering eyes lift to hold his on the screen. He coos at the sight, struck with the urge to touch his Detective, to pet through his sweat-streaked hair and wipe away his tears. “My dear boy, my sweet Detective.” 

Tim’s brow pinches, a sound rising in his throat to be muffled by the blunt nudge of Roman’s cock. His chest heaves, shuddering through another sob as he implores Ra’s with those gorgeous blues. 

“Hush, beloved,” Ra’s murmurs. “I’ll have you soon. All will be well.” 

Those hands twitch in their bonds, tugging at the unyielding rope, but the intense imploring of his gaze never wavers. Ra’s can feel his remorse through the distance, the plea clear in every line of his body. 

It’s a shame then, that he does not call Roman away when the man buries himself deep, climaxing with a bellow as he grinds into Tim’s wound. Those sobs rise then, chest contracting around each wail as his Detective is held tight to the man’s base, gargles wet and strained as he clamours for air. 

The sounds don’t alleviate when Roman pulls free, slick cock leaving a trail down his torn-open cheek as Roman steps back and tucks himself away. That tongue pulls against the heavy bit, panic lighting Tim’s features when he can do no more than drool around the obstruction, spit thick with cum. 

“Don’t let him choke,” Ra’s reminds the crime lord. 

Roman doesn’t give any acknowledgement other than to thrust two fingers into Tim’s struggling mouth, roughly disengaging the crossbar of the gag enough that he can pull it free and discard it on the timber. 

Tim turns his head aside, lights carving the mess of his face in even harsher shadows, and wails against the desk. He looks a mess, desperate and debauched as Roman reaches into his inner pocket and pulls free a cigarette. 

“I don’t know why you keep this one around, al Ghul,” he mutters around the paper, Tim’s moans fading as he strains to listen. The click of his lighter cuts through the silence, before Roman tosses it aside with the forgotten gag and sucks a deep breath through the filter. “I’ve never seen a brat so ungrateful. You’d be better off with another fucktoy, if you asked me. Someone who’ll actually be grateful to kiss your boots.” 

Tim stirs, head swaying in a poor imitation of dissent as Ra’s watches on. 

Roman smirks cruelly, exhaling calmly as he watches Tim’s panic rise. “Why don’t you leave this one with me? I’ll find you a new pet.” 

That earns a reaction from the teen that outweighs even Ra’s’ repulsion. Tim’s head arcs off the desk, hair trailing as he shakes it fitfully, moans rising to coherency as he trembles. 

“No, please,” he begs, rasp thin in the wreckage of his throat. The wound on his cheek has already begun to heal, the corners white around a scar that will soon fade. Tim coughs to clear his passage, lips slick where they warble around his pleas. “Please, Ra’s.” 

“That might be beneficial,” Ra’s responds, impressed with the detachment in his own tone. Like he’s already considered Roman’s proposal and is humouring Tim for argument’s sake. “This one has shown me nothing but indolence. A new pet might be a reprieve.”

It’s the final straw for the boy, a cry cracking in the chasm of his throat when he breaks against the wood, limbs slackening in their rope confines as he heaves air through shaking lungs and wails for Ra’s’ mercy. 

“Please, Ra’s, take me,” he sobs, tears smearing against the lacquer as Ra’s watches with blatant fascination. Tim isn’t looking at him, tears obscuring what’s left of his piecemeal vision. “Take me, please. Don’t replace me. I’ll be useful, Ra’s, please, I can be useful. Please don’t replace me-” 

Ra’s shushes him, the motion married by Roman’s fingers threading into Tim’s hair. The teen trembles beneath his touch, but lets the crime lord tilt his face towards the screen, to where Ra’s can bestow his forgiveness upon his needy Detective. 

“Hush, beloved. All will be well. I promise you,” he reassures, chest warming at the relief that floods Timothy’s strained features. The nock of his throat bobs against its collar, lips parted around a wordless plea as he stares up at the Demon’s Head. “Shall I send for your collection?” 

Tim nods, harried and eager. “Please, Ra’s, please, yes-” 

“Do you want to come home, beloved?” 

“ _Yes,_ ” Tim wails. 

It’s a raw sound, one that twists Ra’s’ heartstrings. He soothes himself with the knowledge that his Detective will soon be returned to him, will once again be a permanent fixture in Ra’s’ home. As present as the air Ra’s breathes. His to take and to hold whenever he pleases. 

Ra’s hums at his devotion, absently signalling his guard to begin preparations to retrieve the teen. He does not bother turning to confirm the shadow’s compliance; his domain is absolute. 

“Be calm, beloved,” Ra’s soothes, when Tim whines, head twisting as he tries to keep Ra’s in view, throat strained against comfort. “You will be with me again soon.” 

“I’m yours,” Tim babbles in earnest. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m-” 

“Of course, beloved.” 

Tim devolves into short, thin little sobs, slumping back against the wood as Ra’s turns his attention to the crime lord still poised above him. 

“You’ll see him returned to my care,” Ra’s tells him. It is not a question, nor a request. “He is to come to no more harm, Sionis.” 

“No promises,” Roman replies, chewing at the cigarette between his teeth. 

Ra’s bristles, his glare cold and sharp when he fixes it on the man on the screen. “Remember our deal.” 

Roman nods easily, fingers lifting to take the flaking cigarette from his lips. He taps it out over the teen still bound to his desk, the ash dark against Tim’s sweat-slicked skin. 

The teen doesn’t even wince at the treatment, breaths low and even as he lays still. Listening, perhaps. Waiting, more likely. 

“You want me to free his cock?” Roman asks crudely, gesturing to Tim’s bloodstained thighs where they strain against the bruising rope. 

Ra’s smothers his ire, lips turning down as he leans back into his cushion. “No,” he answers after a moment. He will reserve the pleasure of the act for himself. It will be an opportunity to confirm Timothy’s condition when he is returned to the compound. 

And moreso, it will be a chance for Ra’s to visit his affection on the teen, to secure their bond with his careful touches. 

Ra’s surveys his prize, the heady sight of his Detective as he reaches forward to end the call. 

“I look forward to seeing you soon, Timothy.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [ ](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah)


End file.
